I felt him before I saw him, and as the running machine behind me sprang to life I knew for sure. His presence was magnetic: the hairs on the back of my neck prickled, my shoulders tensed involuntarily, and I felt his eyes burning imprints into my body. My steps slackened in self-awareness, and as I felt the treadmill drawing me back towards him I attempted a clumsy sprint. Then I found my pace, picked up speed and ran from my desire for him.
As my warm-down came to an end I suddenly felt his absence: he’d gone. I looked around and caught a panther-like flash of him going into the changing room. This was the game we’d been playing for weeks – since I’d started at the gym, in fact. It was a cat-and-mouse game of surreptitious glances and stolen stares. The rules seemed to be that no eye-contact should be made and no words spoken, but still somehow we had made our intentions felt through our training. We’d observe one another reflected multiple times in the weight room mirrors: I’d turn my back on him whilst I did my reps, and see his body angled towards me, his hot gaze on my flexing muscles. In response he’d take to the bench press next-but-one to me and work out by my side, every powerful lift denoting his desire for me, every stretch a silent supplication, every movement sending his warm scent my way.
Today was no different: we’d been skirting around each other for an hour or so, and I’d become half-crazy with lust for him. Even outside the gym my mind had been racing with infinite imaginary scenarios of he and I kissing and coupling, sucking and fucking, and now that I’d seen him again I wanted his cock in my mouth – in fact, I wanted to drink him dry. My body felt hot with yearning, and I felt I couldn’t wait any longer to feel his skin against mine for the first time. But now he’d left I wasn’t sure what to do – was I supposed to follow him? Doubt set in: had I misconstrued the situation? Maybe it was just some idle flirting to make his workout sessions that little bit more interesting. Well, there was only one way to find out: I waited for a few moments wondering whether I was enjoying the anticipation too much to end it with the event itself, and then my need got the better of me. After all, there’s nothing quite like the element of risk to heighten sexual excitement. So, with a cursory look around at my fellow gym-goers I followed my man.
Ever-optimistic, I’d been carrying condoms to my last few visits to the gym in the hope that something might happen, so after a quick stop by my locker for some protection and lube I headed for the showers. I stopped to see if there was anyone else around – there wasn’t. Scoping the cubicles I guessed my man must be at the far end. My heart was hammering in my chest as I approached. This was make or break for me – had I made a mistake, misread the signs? I could see the back of his head and shoulders over the door, and the outline of his body through the frosted glass. As my need got the better of me I took a deep breath and stepped towards him.
There were plenty of straight men out there who’d flirted with the idea of touching me and taking my cock in their mouths, but more than once when it came to the crunch I’d been left disappointed as their courage failed them. I hesitated, torn, unsure whether in this instance my gaydar was correct. Just as I spun on my heels to leave, my magnet turned around. Again, I felt rather than saw him, and turning back, for the first time my eyes met his. With a burnt umber ring around the iris they were much darker brown than I’d imagined, slightly almond-shaped, and framed by thick lashes.
Finally seeing him face-on I realised he was even better looking than I’d initially thought. His ebony skin was pulled tightly across impressive cheekbones, a sensual, strong nose stood proudly in his face and his lips were full and inviting. His expression was open and intelligent. As he smiled in acknowledgement I suddenly felt embarrassed that I’d doubted him and been so close to wimping out. In response I pulled myself up taller, and with a show of confidence I didn’t actually feel, threw back my shoulders and pushed open the cubicle door to meet him.
Following in the footsteps of Ultimate Burlesque and Ultimate Decadence (Xcite) which so far have raised well over £10,000 for Macmillan Cancer Support, comes Ultimate Pleasure (Cliterati First Editions in alliance with The XX Corporation), an erotic e-anthology where one hundred percent of the profits raised will be donated directly to charity.
Comprising ten erotic tales from writers as celebrated and diverse as Lucy Felthouse, Remittance Girl and KL Gillespie, with a foreword by the infamous Dr Brooke Magnanti (AKA Belle De Jour) and a conclusion from Dr Malcolm VandenBurg on the realities of sex and cancer, Ultimate Pleasure has erotic intimacy covered from start to finish – and at all points in between.
If the stories inspire you to start expanding your sexual realities as well as fantasies, Ultimate Pleasure also offers one lucky reader the opportunity to win an exquisite leather collar from multi award-winning master craftsmen to international royalty, Masters Desire.
Compatible with iBooks, Kindle and other popular e-readers, purchase of Ultimate Pleasure comes with a free PDF copy, with every penny of the £3.50 cover price going straight to Macmillan Cancer Support.
The web is full of smut but there’s very little out there for the discerning reader. Originally created by Emily Dubberleyin 2001 as a free sex website for women, Cliterati has been providing fantasies for free for over a decade. Ably adding sex education, erotic art, photography and fashion to its roster, and with over a decade of erotic experience under its belt, today Cliterati is open to all.
Become sexually cliterate and join the Cliterati at www.cliterati.co.uk
About The XX Corporation
The XX Corporation is a new media company from internet minds for internet people. Along with publishing excellent titles such as Ultimate Pleasure, it creates editorial for businesses (video, photos, audio and text) and develops apps and hardware through its XX Corp Labs division. Mic Wright, The XX Corporation’s CEO says: “We’re really delighted to work with Cliterati to get this incredible anthology out into the world and to lend a hand in raising even more money for the vital work Macmillan Cancer Care do every day.”
About Masters Desire
Masters Desire design and manufacture luxurious bondage and restraint equipment. They create accessories for the sexually adventurous, not fashion items. Masters Desire products are exclusive, designed for the discerning individual and handmade by master craftsmen in England with the finest leathers. Honoured as the best leather artisans in the world seven times with a combined experience of over thirty years, their work lives in royal palaces and has appeared at Olympic events.
I love stripping on stage. I have the audience in the palm of my hand and I’m playing with them, slowly teasing them with the power of suggestion: an item of clothing shed here, a flash of skin there, the hint of a curve revealed, a coquettish smile over a bare shoulder – and I have them hooked. It’s an art, burlesque, if you do it right, and I do it so right that people come back for more. When I scan the tables and make eye contact with my spectators, I see men exhale the breaths they’ve been unconsciously holding in, and I know women are instinctively and involuntarily squirming in their seats. Oh yes, I’m bloody good at my job – in fact I’m famous for it. “Coucou…” I tantalisingly beckon in French with a finger, “Coucou!” and there isn’t a person out there who doesn’t want to follow me as I leave the stage clad only in my ostrich feathers.
Last night was no different, except for one thing: in the audience I saw someone. Someone who had a certain something about them – that sexual allure you can pinpoint a mile off, that animal magnetism you couldn’t bottle if you tried. He was suited and booted like the rest of the upmarket crowd before me, but whilst the others on his table were sitting taut and engrossed, he was relaxed and attentive, and his smile was generous and true. I knew in that way you know that he would be mine before the night was out.
And then there he was backstage, this man: not tall, not short, which suited my 5’7” in heels perfectly. My sister Annie introduced us: “Coucou, this is Benjamin Dax–”
“– Call me Ben” he interrupted. Suddenly I was looking into a pair of brown eyes sparkling with intelligence and humour. I liked what I saw.
“Ben then, nice to meet you.” I smiled and held out a hand: Ben took it in his, so that my fist was embraced in his palm and his fingers were around my wrist. The pressure was so subtle as to be almost imperceptible, yet somehow it felt electric. My professionalism escaped me: my legs went weak and I could only smile goofily like a teenager. Annie noticed and grinned imperceptibly.
“Drink?” Ben offered, “I think you’ve earned it tonight. You were sensational up there.”
“Thank you – I’d love one. But not here” I replied, recovered, “I feel as if I’m still onstage. It’s like the eyes of the world are still upon me!” And indeed they were: all carefully selected heads present were surreptitiously turned our way, wondering what the handsome well-dressed stranger was doing backstage with their star, their Coucou.
“I know a great little place,” Ben suggested, “a short hop away. I’m sure you could manage it – even in your heels.”
“Take me, I’m yours” I acquiesced, throwing on my fake fur coat over my glamorous offstage outfit. Ben nodded approvingly. That’s the thing about being a star – people expect you to be dressed like a ‘somebody’ when you’re not working, and I do hate to disappoint my audience, even during my time off.
With a casual wave to Annie and the others I followed Ben out of the door. This was no longer my usual way of doing things, so I was slightly nervous. But, true to his word, Ben’s “great little place” was just around the corner, and he was a real gentleman the whole stroll there: taking my arm, he walked on the outer part of the pavement, sheltering me from passing vehicles, whilst on the pedestrian side he answered any questioning glances from passersby with “No, it’s not….she gets that all the time –” turning to me “ – Honey you really should change your hair, people are confusing you with Coucou again!”
I could actually feel myself relaxing in Ben’s confident and charming company, and as we walked into the bar I took the strong hand he offered as he helped me up the stairs, and I deliberately didn’t let it go until we were sat in our private booth. Ben smiled at me over the table as the pretty waitress took my order, his eyes never straying from my face. “I’ll have the same,” he said, “Mojitos for both of us”. Over the next few hours we chatted and laughed in our secluded sanctuary. I felt elated: here was this perfect stranger sat opposite me, unafraid of my fame – my face – and yet still perfectly attuned to my body, my womanliness, but without the cachet of celebrity. I was impressed – and entertained. I felt recklessly intoxicated: the feel of Ben’s knee pressed against my leg was driving me crazy, and as his hand massaged my thigh I felt like some kind of glamorous courtesan, dressed up to the nines with my stockinged feet in his lap. I was flirting like a demon and loving every moment of it. And so it was that my professional mask slipped bit by bit, so that by the end of the evening I was no longer Coucou but Elizabeth once more – I was me. And I was having a hell of a lot of fun again.
As the bar closed, we called a cab – to Ben’s. “No chauffeur, I’m afraid”, he smiled ruefully. “A refreshing change,” I beamed at him in response. As per our historic family rules (although it had been a long time), I sent my sister Annie a ‘safe’ text to let her know where I was headed and with whom, and I stifled a smirk at the thought that since she was probably tucked up in bed she would read it in the morning – which is when a barrage of return texts would be coming back my way begging me to tell all. This evening I really was being the old me again – how wonderfully invigorating! I felt all dizzy with joy at the thought of truly shedding the stage for a night. But not, it has to be said, as dizzy as when in the back of the taxi Ben stroked the hollow at the back of my knee, both reassuring and exciting me at the same time. I turned to him as the streetlights flashed by, looking up at his face to get the measure of him. “Yup, I’m still here”, Ben laughed, now squeezing my leg with his hand. I placed my own over the top. “Me too”, I smiled. Ben’s eyes danced, and his grip tightened, but he made no move to kiss me.
Soon enough we drew up outside a smart block of flats. The building was art deco in design, and as Ben helped me out of the cab I read the words Underwood Mansions inscribed over the grand entrance. “I’m on the third floor”, he said, showing me into the old ornate lift. Holding my hand, he surveyed me in the mirrors, drinking in the sight of me.
I couldn’t help it: “What do you see?” I asked, pouting my famous lips, my elegant reflection echoed back to me in multiple by the fabulous gilt-edged mirrors surrounding us.
“I see a beautiful woman who needs to stop working so hard”, Ben smiled.
“Just as well I’m making the most of my time off right now then, isn’t it?” I batted back with a wink of my stage lashes.
I noticed Ben’s even teeth under the ornamental light, the beautiful curve of his mouth, and the softness of his skin. I wanted to touch his face, but didn’t quite have the courage, so I did the next best thing and took his other hand in mine so that we stood face to face. Despite the warmth of my fur coat the hungry look in his eyes gave me goosebumps, and I trembled slightly in anticipation, my very essence vibrating with desire at his touch. I was eager for him too.
The bell announced the third floor, breaking our reverie, and as though in a dream I tottered along the corridor to Ben’s place, my arm threaded through his. I could feel the strong muscles on his forearm and smell his fresh, masculine aftershave. I was under his spell, and my body hummed in recognition.
First published on Cliterati under my Mia More alias
There are so many things I love about my girlfriend Gemma: her wicked sense of humour, her smile, her curvy calves, her gorgeous round bottom, and the dimples in all four of her cheeks. We’ve just moved in together, and every day I can’t wait to finish work just to get home and spend time with her.
When I got in yesterday evening after a couple of days away on business, I pretty much bounded up the stairs. “Hey Honey, I’m home!” I called in my best American accent. “I’m in the shower!” Gemma yelled back in her best Northern. “Then brace yourself purty lady” I replied, “’cause I’m a comin’ in!”
The bathroom was all steamy. Condensation dripped from the mirror, and I could smell Gemma’s girlie soap and shampoo. I could also see the outline of her body behind the shower curtain, especially once she’d realised I was there and had pressed her breasts against it, wrapping the wet transparent plastic around her gorgeous curved body before turning away from me so that I could see the shape of her beautiful big bum. And Jesus, was it beautiful. I felt my cock twitch. “Well now, isn’t that a mighty fine sight for sore eyes?” I drawled.
“Your eyes will be bloody sore in a minute if you don’t stop that ridiculous accent!” Gemma reprimanded, “Now hand me a towel, will you?”
I did as I was bidden and my siren emerged from the shower, water running from her dark purple bob, between her breasts, and down between her legs. I was beside myself with lust, and bent down to lick the drops that had collected in her belly button. Unconsciously I let out a groan, “I want you so much Gemma. Let me lick you dry from head to toe – please” I begged.
First published on Cliterati under my Mia More alias